


Blight of Fantasy

by AzzleDazzle



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dark Victor Nikiforov, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Kid Yuri Plisetsky, Kidnapping, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Manipulation, More tags to be added, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, aged-down Yuri Plisetsky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-12-16 11:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzzleDazzle/pseuds/AzzleDazzle
Summary: Yuuri is a stripper who's just trying to keep his head above the water. Viktor is a mafia boss who doesn't take no for an answer, and he'll do whatever he has to to get the stripper known only as "Eros", even if it means abducting him to Russia and training him to become the perfect partner.This will be at least somewhat dark. I do not accept non-constructive criticisms, particularly if you're going to complain about something that's clearly marked as something you might not like.





	1. Treasure in Marseilles

**Author's Note:**

> I _suck_ at summaries, so if you've gotten this far, kudos to you, but I do promise my writing is at least mostly decent.
> 
> Warning: the characters in this piece of fan fiction (please keep in mind that this is Fan Fiction) are flawed. They fuck up. They accidentally hurt each other. A few times. They're stupid and contradictory, just like real humans. They. Are. Flawed. It's what makes them interesting.
> 
> That being said, there are also inaccuracies about a few things. They are either intentional for the story or overlooked because I can do that as the creator of the world. Once again, this is Fan FICTION.
> 
> If this is not your cup of tea, please stop reading now. If it's not your cup of tea and you decide to read it anyway and decide that you don't like it and want to leave a harassing comment bitching, please stop. Step away from your computer/phone/tablet. Take a walk. Pet a critter. Eat a cupcake and a granola bar and drink a bunch of water. Think about the fact that on the other side of the screen is a living, breathing human being with actual human emotions. Think about how you would feel if you were brave enough to post a story and someone commented with the same mean comment you're about to say. If you still feel like I deserve it, then go ahead. 
> 
> But I reserve the right to be a dick right back at you.

Though his men tell him he should be more careful, Viktor Nikiforov, successful CEO, sponsor to numerous talented athletes around the world, and the Pahkan of the Russian Mafia, will still occasionally hire an escort to stand next to him and look pretty throughout long boring events. It throws people off, redirects the conversation away from things best not spoken of in a public setting, and if Viktor is feeling amorous, he’ll sometimes indulge himself. He’s never really cared for whores, but he’s been even less inclined to find a partner.

He’s at a high end club in France right now, staring at the men and women in various states of undress as they writhe against patrons, looking to see which one would be pretty enough to take home tonight. The next three days is a whirlwind of meetings that Viktor would rather not go to and having a bought whore on his arm will at least make things less tedious. None of the perfectly made up people catch his eye, though, and he’s resigned to going alone and waiting until his usual escort service is free after their… unfortunate run in with the law recently. Or perhaps it’s a sign that he needs to find another one, more discreet. He’s just standing to leave when the sound drops and the announcer purrs into the microphone, “Now on the stage, the embodiment of lust personified, the one you’ve all been waiting for… Eros…”

The first beats of _ Rude Boy _ begins thumping through the speakers as the lights fade and focus is drawn to the center stage. The crowd goes insane with cheers and whistles and this Eros hasn’t even stepped out yet. Viktor’s curiosity rears its head and he sits back down to watch from his vantage point. One long leg, clad in black pants and, curiously, no visible shoes, pokes out from a break in the curtain, and it only drives the crowd wilder. A pale, slender hand grasps the edge, parting the red fabric and out steps…

God, the man must truly be Eros personified, his eyes dark and lusty, his lips curled into a smirk as he struts out on stage, each step more of a swagger than anything, and Viktor’s dick gets hard with an embarrassing quickness. Eros is dressed in a white shirt, sleeves stylishly rolled up to his elbows, a black vest that shimmers subtly with sequins, and those pants… when he turns around, even from a distance, Viktor can see the shape of his ass. He’s pretty sure that ass will bring him to his knees. He’s going to make sure that day comes sooner rather than later. 

Eros runs a hand through his slicked back hair as he approaches the pole, winking at the crowd. His hands grasp the pole as the line _ Com’n rude boy boy, is you big enough _ starts, his hips gyrating against it as he pointedly licks his lips and stares out at the crowd. Viktor never realized how amazing Rihanna songs were for stripping before that very night. Eros holds the pole as he slides down, his crotch pressed against the solid metal, before easing himself back up and doing a short twirl around it. He hasn’t taken off a single article of clothing and Viktor already wants him more than he’s wanted anything before. He watches as Eros bites his lip, slowly releasing it from between his lips as he pops the buttons on the vest.

“Ah, Viktor, did you need another drink? Is Emile taking good care of you?” Christophe, owner of the establishment and occasional friend and drinking partner, slides into the chair next to him. Viktor hums in acknowledgement and waves off Christophe, keeping his gaze narrowed on the stage and Eros, who loses his vest and shirt as Chris chatters away next to him, either not realizing or uncaring that Viktor isn’t paying attention.

Eros’ work on a pole is captivating, the way he uses it as an extension of himself, each move carefully plotted out, but done so gracefully that it seems natural. His hands work fluidly and with ease as he moves around, fingers occasionally tweaking his pink nipples, teasing the edge of the pants that hide the rest of his body from Viktor’s greedy eyes, burying themselves in the black locks of his hair. His eyes stay half lidded, constantly roaming the room, never truly settling on any person, dark even under the lights of the stage. The crowd is going crazy, bills raining down on the stage, occasionally tucking in the band of his pants if someone is particularly lucky enough for Eros to get close enough to them so they can slip it in before he’s moving again.

“I take it you like what you see,” Chris purrs in his ear, and Viktor finally tears his eyes away from the stage. Chris leans back in his seat with a smirk. “Does Eros catch your wandering eyes, Viktor? He’s not a whore, you know, he won’t be bought with a few rubles thrown his way.” 

“It’s a pity, all I’m looking for is a whore.” He looks back at the stage to find, greatly to his disappointment, that Eros had stripped off his pants (FINALLY) while Chris was distracting him. The annoyance is only temporary as Eros does hoists himself up on the pole and begins walking around it as though suspended from the ceiling. The black thong shows off his muscular ass as he circles around and Viktor is gone.

It’s even better than he could have imagined; Viktor want to bite, feel his teeth sink into the flesh of his ass, his fingers digging into those thick thighs as he marks Eros, maybe tease his tongue between the cheeks, but mostly he wants to see that ass bouncing on his cock. He wants to fuck Eros until he can’t walk, can’t even _ sit _, without feeling Viktor.

As the song comes to a close, Eros mounts the pole one last time, looking effortless as he flips upside down and his legs spread into a V. He’s mouthing the words and just as the last _ Love me, Love me _ echoes through the room, his eyes seem to land squarely on Viktor. He holds his position for several seconds, his eyes never leaving Viktor, as the room goes absolutely insane and even more cash rains down on the stage.

“How much is he worth to you?” Viktor asks once Eros has collected his tips and walked off stage, giving Chris is full attention.

He hums, rubbing at his jawline. “He’s a huge draw, you see, particularly on the weekends. I’m not just telling you this,” he adds, “he has a dedicated following here.”

“I believe you,” Viktor replies, thinking of the large amount of bills that had been thrown on the stage. “You don’t think he’d be interested in just being arm candy, do you? I’d compensate you both for his time.”

Chris shrugs as he sips his drink. “Honestly, I don’t think he’d be okay with it. Eros is very private and from what I can tell, he keeps this side of his life separate from his real life.”

Viktor drinks and refills his glass from the bottle sitting in his ice bucket, thinking of his options. Even if he doesn’t get to fuck him, Eros is a rather pretty man; Viktor knows how to look without touching. “What about for a private dance? Does he do those?”

“Ah, that he does on occasion, but you’ll have to discuss it with his manager.”

“Manager?” Viktor looks at him, incredulous, but Chris just smirks.

“I told you, Eros is different. I wasn’t even going to hire him, but, well, you saw the way he moves on the pole.”

Perhaps a manager would be easier; a roll of cash goes far in greasing the wheels, Viktor knows. “Bring me the manager, then.”

Chris winks at him before standing and weaving his way through the crowd. Viktor’s attention goes back to scanning the room, but there’s still no one who captures his attention like Eros. The other dancers are good, Chris hires nothing but the best, and yet his mind drifts. 

It takes a few songs before Viktor senses someone approaching him and he turns to see a short young man with dark hair and a friendly smile on his face stepping up to his table. “Hi, I’m told you wanted to speak to Eros’ manager?”

“Ah, yes, pleasure to meet you, Mr….” Viktor stands, reaching out a hand in greeting, which is then warmly shaken.

“Mr. Chulanont. And you are?”

“My name is Viktor Nikiforov, and yes, I wished to speak with you regarding Eros. Please, have a seat.” Viktor gestures to the chair that Chris had abandoned and they both sit.

“And how can I help you, Mr. Nikiforov?”

“Christophe said that Eros does private dances on occasion.”

“Yes, but they’re usually booked in advance. I don’t know if he would be able to do one tonight.”

“It’s a pity, then. If it helps, I would pay him handsomely.” Viktor smiles charmingly. “And, of course, I would be happy to compensate you as well.”

For some reason, this makes Chulanont’s face harden, his smile turning brittle. “Ah. Mr. Nikiforov, if I may be blunt?” He waits until Viktor inclines his head before continuing. “I can tell you right now that neither of us are susceptible to bribery and Eros isn’t a whore. He won’t go home with you, no matter how much money you throw at him, he won’t warm your bed or get on his knees. Eros is a dancer and nothing else. If you’re just looking for a quick fuck, I’m sure Mr. Giacometti can show you to the dancers who offer those services here.” Chulanont stands, giving Viktor a quick nod. “Thank you for your patronage and have a good evening, Mr. Nikiforov.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, instead turning and leaving without any indication that he realizes that Viktor could easily have him killed for being insolent. He only entertains that thought briefly, but really, he was more firm than rude and Viktor isn’t a total monster. He’ll find another way to get to Eros while skirting this Mr. Chulanont. Though, he is well known and had given the man his real name, so perhaps skirting wasn’t the right course of action… 

It takes only a few words to his right hand and then Viktor finishes his drink and leaves, nodding to Chris as he goes. The SUV rented for this trip is comfortable enough on the ride back to the hotel, where he spends hours organizing his people in different countries and fielding calls for his business and sponsorships. Sleep comes, fitful as always. Nowhere, no matter how well guarded, is fully protected and Viktor has the scars to remind him of that every time he starts to get too comfortable. He spends the next few days attending meetings with a petite Italian woman he mostly ignores, and any free time is spent sampling the food offerings in the city. Once business is concluded and the Italian is sent off with a full purse, Viktor has the SUV take him on one last trip, this time to his private jet.

Guards watch over the tarmac as he walks to the door of the jet, searching for any possible issues. He nods to his pilot and the two person crew before settling in his usual seat. Mila slides into the seat across from him, smirking so that the scar on her chin pulls tightly.

“Have the packages arrived?”

“Yes, sir, stored in the back room.”

“Were there any issues?”

“A small one, but we took care of him.”

Viktor hums and looks out the window as the plane takes off, the guards settled in the back room with the package to ensure everything is handled with care. The tarmac flashes back, solid black with occasional flashes of color, and Viktor’s mind goes back to Eros’ dance, the black of the pants and vest offset by the white shirt. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he’s rubbed a few off to that song and the mental image of Eros on the pole since that night. The flight is uneventful and full of business and by the end, the only thing Viktor wants is to collapse in his bed.

Of course, that changes the moment he steps out of his car and a blur of pink hits him in the middle with a joyful, “Papa!”

“Yurackcha!” He tugs his son up into his arms and gives him a firm hug, pressing a kiss to his hairline. “How’s my little kitten? Aren’t you supposed to be in bed by now?”

“I escaped from Yulia, Papa, they told me you were coming home and I missed you!” Yuri wiggles in his arms, tiny fingers clutching Viktor’s shirt. “I’ll go to sleep if you tuck me in.”

“How could I say no to that?”

Mila clears her throat and they both turn to look at her. “What should I do with the packages, sir?”

“Ah, yes, of course, my room will be fine for the large package, the small one you can put in the east wing; I’ll handle everything after I put my little tiger to bed.” Viktor pokes Yura’s tummy and gets a giggle in return.

Yura tells him about the things he’s learned in school and that his other grandpa visited and Grandpa Yakov took him to his dance class and then to get ice cream! Every word from his son’s mouth is dripping with excitement and happiness, which always brings a smile to Viktor’s own face. He puts him in his bed and pulls the cat blanket over Yura before settling next to him and letting Yura tuck himself into his side. Once Yuri is done talking, he asks for a story and before Viktor is done telling one with a Baba Yaga, his son is fast asleep. Viktor longs to do the same and so slips out of the small bed and walks to his room, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

He’s suddenly reminded that sleep will have to wait when he opens his door and Eros is sitting on his bed, his eyes wide as he stares at Viktor.

The man babbles something in a different language as he sobs, and that’s when Viktor realizes there are tears flowing down his cheeks. Viktor’s not even sure what language he’s speaking, though he thinks it might be Japanese, or if he even speaks any of the same ones as Viktor.

“Ah. _ Parlez-vous francais? Snakker du norsk? Habla espanol? _ Er… Do you speak English?” Viktor doesn’t know enough Japanese to attempt a conversation in that language, but once he says English, the man nods slowly, eyes still wide with fear. “Good, good, English it is then. Hello, Eros, my name is Viktor Nikiforov. Welcome to Russia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is an idea I've had for a while and I've finally decided to post the first part. There's more if people want to read it, but I have no idea where this is going, so if y'all want more, there will be more tags added as the story goes along. I have marked it with "rape/noncon" but I don't know how detailed it will be or when it will happen, but I wanted to give everyone a heads up and I will definitely add a note on any chapter that has it.


	2. Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check the tags, all of the warnings will be there for now!

As his song draws to a close and Yuuri pulls himself up the pole for his final move, he realizes he’s mouthing along to the words. It helps, sometimes, to disassociate from everything while he’s stripping, makes him feel less like a piece of meat, but this is one of his favorite songs to dance to.

The crowd is a blur around him as he hangs upside down, mostly because both he and Phichit forgot to grab a spare set of contacts before they left the apartment this afternoon, but he can still see shapes well enough to realize that there’s someone seated in the VIP section who looks like they’re staring right at him. He holds the pose, blurry vision focused on that one point, one  _ person _ , because the feel of their eyes on him burns like it normally doesn’t with the usual crowds of people. There’s something like an itch under his skin as he rights himself and begins collecting the bills scattered on the stage, making a little small talk with the regulars in the crowd, thanking some people, and fending off a few drunks who are trying to get a bit more than a dance out of him, before he’s parting the curtains and heading to his dressing room. Well, dressing corner, but Phichit is good at getting what he wants and he’s convinced Chris to let him cordon off a back corner with sheets so that Yuuri can be alone when he needs to without the other dancers staring at him.

“Yuuri, you did amazing!” Phichit gushes, coming up next to him and helping him with his cash stack. “The crowd was eating that up, that is seriously one of your best dances. How are you feeling?”

Yuuri’s mouth is dry and his feet are hurting from an earlier dance class he taught and he can feel his breath hitching in his chest. “Not good, Phichit, I-”

Phichit doesn’t hesitate, immediately hauling Yuuri to his corner and pushing him through the hanging sheets there. Yuuri drops the cash he’s still holding into the bag they keep for it and immediately sits in his chair, arms tight over his torso as he rocks slightly back and forth. Phichit hands him a blanket to cover his bare skin, which helps the rocking subside a bit, but he still feels the tightness in his chest, tears pricking at his eyes as he tries to get himself under control.

“Yuuri?”

“I’m a whore,” Yuuri sniffles, wiping at the obnoxious tears on his face. “A stupid slut for money, why do these people even like me?”

“Oh, god, Yuuri, sweetie, no, you’re not, it’s going to be okay! You can stop any time, you know you don’t have to continue to do this.” Phichit is trying to reassure him, but Yuuri knows he’s wrong, Yuuri does have to keep dancing because it helps them pay for their apartment. Phichit makes good money when he dances, but Yuuri is apparently the biggest whore of them all, why else would so many people come to see him make a fool of himself on that stupid pole?

His breathing isn’t much better when he suddenly hears Mr. Giacometti calling out for Phichit, who throws a worried look at Yuuri before stepping out. Yuuri listens dully to their conversation.

“Phichit, good evening, how is our star tonight?”

Phichit’s voice drops low, but they’re standing close enough that Yuuri can hear him say, “This isn’t the best time, Mr. Giacometti, I’m sorry, Yuuri needs some time tonight.”

“Aw, no encore? The crowd will be devastated.” Say what you will about Christophe Giacometti, he’s a bit of a deviant, doesn’t take shit from anyone, Yuuri and Phichit are in a betting pool about whether or not he’s got mafia connections, but he never forces his dancers on stage if they’re not in the right mindset. He tells them that crowds can tell and it drives down attendance; Yuuri is pretty sure he’s just secretly soft hearted. “That’s well enough, I suppose, but I also came back here to talk to you, Phichit. Someone is asking for Eros’ manager.”

“He’s not going to be able to perform for anyone tonight, sir, I-”

“Ah,  _ non, non, cher _ , wait to see what the gentleman says. He’s… he’s not really someone to say no to.” Yuuri’s head shoots up, staring at the outline of the two men. For the first time, Mr. Giacometti sounds uncertain and a little worried.

“I’ll go talk to him, but I don’t care who he is, I won’t make Yuuri do something he wouldn’t be comfortable with and I won’t let you try to force him, either. There are other clubs, Mr. Giacometti, I’m sure some of them would like to have Eros headline for them.”

Mr. Giacometti raises his hands in surrender and tells Phichit which table the man is sitting at. He waits until he’s gone before Yuuri hears him sigh and sees his head turn towards the sheet. “Yuuri?”

_ “Oui?” _

“English is fine, I know you’re not that good at French. May I come in?” At Yuuri’s okay, Mr. Giacometti steps inside and sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Yuuri, I need to talk to you.”

A thousand things run through Yuuri’s head at those hated words, but he pushes them all down and instead says, “I heard you and Phichit talking. Are you going to make me do a private dance?”

“No, of course not, but the gentleman… Yuuri, I wasn’t lying when I said he gets what he wants. The man is rarely turned down for anything and-” Mr. Giacometti sighs again and this time he looks at Yuuri with pity. “Yuuri, you… you need be careful, no matter what Phichit tells him, okay? You’re a good dancer, I don’t want to lose you.”

A shiver of fear runs down Yuuri’s spine, but before he can ask Mr. Giacometti to elaborate, the man is gone, leaving Yuuri alone and shivering in the back of the strip club. Phichit finds him still frozen and bustles around, gathering everything from tonight and pushing some clothes into his hands, telling him to get dressed. Yuuri’s fingers are numb and clumsy, but he manages to finish dressing by the time Phichit has everything together and then he’s following him out through the back door, giving the doorman a nod as Phichit hails a cab. Normally they would walk home, but apparently nothing about this night is going the way it should. Yuuri doesn’t say anything, just moves to wherever Phichit puts him, sagging against his friend as the cab pulls away.

The next three days seem to drag and Yuuri feels an itch under his skin no matter where he goes, like he’s being followed or watched, but he never catches anyone giving him extra attention. When he finally mentions it to Phichit, his friend tells him that he’s had the same feeling; both of them develop a habit of triple checking the locks and ensuring their phones are charged and on them at all times. They work their normal day jobs and Phichit performs a couple of times at the club, and by the time Tuesday rolls around, they’re both exhausted from the constant vigilance on top of their regular schedules.

“Phi, I’m dead,” Yuuri groans from his place on the floor, his thighs aching and calves feeling like solid knots.

“Me too,” Phichit says from the couch, where he’s been since he got home ten minutes ago.

“Who’s going to cook dinner if we’re both dead?”

“A cook at a restaurant, I don’t know if I can move at the moment.”

Yuuri sighs but agrees because he doesn’t have the energy to move either. They go back and forth with food options and finally settle on one of their favorite places, a good fall back when times are like this. They bicker playfully over who is going to call in the order until Yuuri points out that Phichit literally always has his phone on him and Yuuri left his in his coat,  _ so really, Phichit, it’s your own fault and you should call it in _ . Phichit grumbles good naturedly, but it’s true and he has no comeback for that. Marcel answers and flirts with him, telling him their order will be delivered in about thirty minutes. Phichit hangs up with a flirty, “ _ Merci beaucoup! Au-revoir _ .”

“You should just ask him on a date,” Yuuri says around a yawn.

“But what if we break up! We’d never be able to order from there again and you know they have the best bread.”

“That’s fair.” The bread really is amazing, though not so much that Phichit should avoid dating someone to keep getting it; they’ve had this conversation before and Phichit always wins by default, because Yuuri eventually gets tired of arguing or the food arrives and they stuff their faces.

There’s a knock on the door that causes both of them to jump and a silent argument over who gets it before Yuuri groans and stands up, stretching and enjoying the popping sensations in his back. “ _ Un moment! _ ” he calls out, shuffling to his coat and digging out his wallet. “ _ Combien? _ ”

“Eros?” 

Yuuri’s head jerks up at the name and he finds a pretty red headed woman smiling pleasantly at him, a long scar stretching across her face. She is most certainly not a food delivery person. “ _ Excusez-moi? _ ” he squeaks out.

The woman doesn’t reply to him, tossing a few words in a different language over her shoulder; two hulking men come out of nowhere, blending seamlessly out of the shadows of the night. Yuuri hurriedly slams the door shut, but a slim hand shoots out, grabbing the edge and preventing him from closing it completely. The woman is saying something, this time in French, but Yuuri’s brain can’t translate the words, fear clouding his mind as he screams for Phichit. There’s a thud as his friend falls off the couch and scrambles to him, but Yuuri is suddenly thrown backwards as the door is shoved the rest of the way open. The woman is speaking in a low tone, Yuuri supposes it’s supposed to be soothing, but it has the opposite effect. Phichit begins pulling him away from the gang of people, towards their rooms, screaming like he’s being murdered. Which, fair enough, they’re probably about to be; Yuuri just hopes the screams alert their neighbors and the police arrive in enough time to catch the killers.

He stumbles when one of the men grabs his other arm, instinctively clutching Phichit harder, which causes him to stumble as well, and they both go down, hitting the floor hard. The killers loom over them, keeping them from moving too far away, before the woman parts them, something small and white in her hand. She’s talking in that low voice again, still in a language he doesn’t know, and brings the white thing to his face; Yuuri jerks his head back and lets out a feral scream. Someone grabs him by the hair, holding his head in place so the redhead can press what feels like a cloth to his face. The sweet smell chokes him, his head almost immediately swimming, his vision spinning slightly as overwhelming tiredness takes over. The grip on his head eases and he’s laid gently on the floor, vaguely aware of Phichit still fighting and kicking near him as the woman pulls something out of seemingly nowhere. His sleeve is pushed up and something cold floods his veins. He closes his eyes as the tiredness becomes too much, and then there’s nothing.

***

Yuuri wakes up sore, his head aching, and his mouth dry. The room is blurry around him when he sits up and even without his glasses, he can tell that this place is unfamiliar. He’s not dead, not yet at least, but the gang of maybe-killers have obviously transported him somewhere completely different; he doesn’t even know if he’s still in France, let alone Marseille or any of the surrounding areas. Yuuri stands slowly, allowing his body to adjust to the stiffness in his limbs. The room is dimly lit, but obviously not a hotel room, going by the furnishings. There’s a few personal items around, nothing that gives any hint as to whose room it is or where Yuuri is; the only clue he has is that it’s (still?) night time, the moonlight coming through the cracked curtains hanging over the windows. A peek outside shows a sharp drop, nothing that looks like it could be used to hold himself up if he climbs down to escape.

One door reveals a spacious bathroom, another a large walk-in closet full of clothes that look expensive, and a third is locked; Yuuri assumes this is the door to the rest of the building. He’s apparently not allowed to leave the room in any way. He takes a deep trembling breath, but feels it hitch in his chest. Panic begins to flood his brain, his hands becoming numb as he fights to breath. Tears prick his eyes and he stumbles back to the bed, thoughts racing and limbs shaking as he tries to make sense of the situation.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there alone, but his head jerks up when he hears the door open. A tall man with light hair, features indistinguishable between the tears and lack of glasses, steps into the room and pauses in the doorway. Yuuri can’t help the pleading words that fall from his lips, his frightened brain reverting back to his native Japanese as he begs for his life. More tears leak from his eyes, his chest tight with sobs, as the man just looks at him.

“Ah.  _ Parlez-vous francais? Snakker du norsk? Habla espanol? _ Er… Do you speak English?” the man asks, his voice smooth and accented but not so thickly that the words are difficult for Yuuri to understand. Once he says English, Yuuri’s brain latches on to his second language, the words more familiar than the French that came before, and he nods his understanding slowly. “Good, good, English it is then. Hello, Eros, my name is Viktor Nikiforov. Welcome to Russia.”

“Why-why am I here?” Yuuri manages to say, voice mostly steady. “What happened to Phichit? Where- Why Russia?”

“Don’t worry, your friend is safe,  _ dorogaya _ , he won’t be injured. You’re in Russia because that’s where I live, I am… a benefactor, of sorts. I saw your show in Marseille, you were amazing, but Christophe informed me that you might be… reluctant to allow me to help. And your manager, he reinforced that, so I thought it might be better to simply bring you here.”

None of this made any sense. Yuuri didn’t need a benefactor, he wasn’t an athlete or scientist or anything, he was just a stripper and a dance teacher. “I’m, I’m afraid I don’t- what do you mean?”

Viktor chuckles, stepping closer to Yuuri, who isn’t able to hold back his flinch, though it doesn’t stop the other man. Up close, Yuuri can make out more of the details of his face, cataloguing them. He supposes the man is handsome, but his fear is still predominantly at the front of his mind and he wants nothing more than to wake up from this dream. “You’re tired, why don’t we get some sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning,  _ da _ ?”

Without waiting for a reply, the man begins stripping out of his suit, leaving a trail of clothes on the floor on his way to the bathroom. “Eros, come here,” he commands, voice echoing off the tiled walls. It takes Yuuri a second to realize he’s being summoned, the man doesn’t even know his real name, then he shuffles as quick as he can to stand at the doorway, eyes downcast. “You need to brush your teeth, come, I have a toothbrush for you.” 

Yuuri does as he’s told, quietly thanking Viktor for the toothbrush and obediently cleaning his teeth, intensely grateful to remove the funky taste he hadn’t even realized was in his mouth until then. Viktor leads him back to bed afterwards, then begins stripping Yuuri’s clothes off with soft movements. Yuuri yelps, attempting to keep his shirt on, but the man gives him a hard look, jaw tight.

“Eros, take off your shirt right now. I’ve seen it all before,  _ myshka _ , and I will not tolerate this feigned shyness now that we’re alone.”

Yuuri shivers at the anger barely perceptible in his voice and slowly lets his arms go loose so that Viktor can pull it the rest of the way off. His face burns with humiliation as Viktor also pulls his trousers down, leaving him only in his boxers, shivering from the cold and fear now. He allows himself to be pressed down into the bed and Viktor gently pulls the covers over him. He hears shuffling, the soft sound of trousers hitting the floor, then feels a dip in the bed. The light flicks off and then a warm body is up against his, naked skin against naked skin, a well muscled arm looping over his chest and pulling him in tight. He feels Viktor press a kiss to the back of his head and settle in, but sleep doesn’t find Yuuri nearly as easily as it apparently does his captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me, I'm working on this as much as I can, but I've been feeling uninspired a lot lately, so send good writing vibes my way! I have a vague idea of how I want this to go, but I'm flying by the seat of my pants (a bad habit of mine, honestly...)


	3. Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, kiddies, here's where the non-con starts coming in. There's a bit in the beginning (starts right after Yuuri comes back from the bathroom, it's seriously like five paragraphs down) and then towards the end (after Viktor sends Yura to take a bath, ends just towards the end where there's a ***, then there's some talk of it during the bottom part).

Viktor wakes suddenly at the slightest movement of his arms beginning lifted and he instinctively tightens his grip before he remembers that he fell asleep with Yuuri, his beautiful Eros, curled against his chest. He hears Yuuri let out a squeak and he loosens his arms.

“I’m sorry, I, uhm, I need to, uhm, the bathroom?” Yuuri whispers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

“Don’t worry, Eros, I just wake easily. Go.” He releases Yuuri, who nervously climbs out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom, leaving Viktor to stretch, feeling his back pop as he listens to the vague sounds of water in the bathroom. There’s only a small window, too small for a man to crawl out of, so he’s not too worried about Yuuri attempting an escape. Instead, Viktor begins planning his day; he’ll take Yuuri to the dining room for breakfast, tease a visit with Chulanont, maybe even let Yuuri go see his little friend this evening if the day goes well, but Viktor already has a few meetings planned and there is a small matter of a possible traitor that needs to be dealt with now that he’s back in Russia. Perhaps he could bring Yuuri with him to the meetings, since it’s unlikely the boy knows Russian, show him that he’s not fully a prisoner in Viktor’s household. In fact, if he proves that he can be trusted, he’ll be allowed to even leave the compound at some point.

Hm, he’ll also have to talk to Mila about who would be best to assign as Yuuri’s permanent bodyguard; he adds that to his mental list just as Yuuri opens the bathroom door. His eyes grow wide as he takes in Viktor’s sprawl, the sheets just barely covering his hard cock, lean muscles on full display. Yuuri’s face turns bright red and he looks down, embarrassed. It’s hopelessly adorable, but Viktor won’t tolerate this feigned shyness for very long.

“Good morning, Eros,” he purrs, just to make Yuuri turn redder. “Why don’t you come join me on the bed.”

“Uhm-”

“Ah-ah, that wasn’t a question, _ myshka _ , come here.” Yuuri shuffles closer, body stiff and looking awkward, nothing like the sexy minx that danced so beautifully at the club. He sits on the edge of the bed, then glances over at Viktor and seems to think better of it, scooting closer. _ Good, he’s learning already _, Viktor thinks, smirking. “Why don’t you help me out this morning?” he says, pulling the sheet off entirely, exposing the rest of his body, his cock full and hot as it stands proudly.

Yuuri yelps, head jerking like he wants to turn away, but instead settles for just closing his eyes and biting his lip. “Wh-what do you want me to do?” Yuuri whispers.

“Hm, I’d love that pretty mouth of yours on my cock, but, I suppose, since it’s your first day, I’ll let you choose if you’d rather use your hand.” Viktor can’t wait to see those beautiful lips stretched around his cock, Yuuri’s eyes watering as he takes Viktor down his throat, but he’s feeling generous and it might make Yuuri feel more at ease to start a little slower. He wants Yuuri to eventually be happy here, to accept his role in Viktor’s life and in his bed, and since Yuuri wants to keep playing pretend shy, Viktor will oblige him… for now.

When Yuuri takes too long to move, Viktor sighs in irritation and grabs Yuuri’s hand, wrapping it around his cock. Yuuri’s hand flexes before he starts to move it, too slow and his grip too loose for it to really do anything for Viktor. “You can do better than that,” Viktor coos. “Come on, my sweet Eros-”

“I can’t,” Yuuri cuts in, taking his hand away and almost physically folding in on himself. “I can’t, I can’t, please, I-” His breaths are coming in hitches and his eyes are wet; Viktor groans and shoves himself away, his cock deflating at the sight.

“If you can’t even handle a fucking handjob, what good are you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, storming to the bathroom to shower instead. What the fuck was Yuuri’s problem? Viktor knows that Christophe said the boy didn’t whore himself out, but still, it’s not like Viktor was fucking him yet, and he already is freaking out over just touching Viktor’s dick? This was going to be harder than he thought…

He pushes his irritation down showering quickly and brushing his teeth in hopes that he’ll be calm before his day starts, then he walks back into his bedroom to grab his clothes. Yuuri seems to have disassociated, eyes glazed over, not even looking Viktor’s way as he dresses; Viktor doesn’t have time to deal with this nonsense right now. He’s about to leave when he pauses and turns back to the bed, lifting Yuuri’s chin so that they’re face-to-face.

“You are not to leave this room. Someone will bring you food. I expect you to get over this shit before I get back this evening or you can forget about visiting your little friend. Understood?” Yuuri blinks at him for a moment before Viktor feels the barely-there movement of his head nodding. “Good.” He presses a fierce kiss to Yuuri’s lips before leaving, pausing at the doorway to give his guards instructions to keep Yuuri safe in the room. Yura is waiting for him in the dining room and Viktor focuses his energy on his son for the time being.

***

Screams echo throughout the building, the smell of burning flesh and blood heavy in the air, as Viktor looks over the scene before him. He rarely deals with issues like traitors first hand, but he still prefers to be on-hand when questioning goes on. You never know when an important piece of information might slip out that could go over the head of the interrogator.

Right now, they’re not getting much of anything, so either this guy isn’t actually a traitor (which Viktor doubts, based on the evidence they’ve found) or he’s tougher than anticipated. It doesn’t matter much to Viktor, who checks his watch to see that it’s time for him to leave if he wants to make it back to the compound for dinner like he’d promised Yura. He takes a few of his men with him and leaves the rest to finish what they started and gets home just as Yorgi is finishing the food. He tells Yura to go wash his hands and goes to fetch Yuuri from the bedroom.

He hasn’t appeared to have moved much since Viktor left, still on the bed, but his eyes are clearer now, snapping to focus on Viktor the moment he steps into the room. Viktor drapes his suit jacket across the back of a chair near the door, stepping inside the bathroom to wash the blood off of his hands and a few drops that had landed on his cheek, then goes to sit next to Yuuri’s feet. To his surprise, Yuuri doesn’t flinch back, his eyes glinting with a new resolve.

“How was your day, _ myshka _?”

Yuuri’s mouth opens a closes a few times before he manages to say, “Quiet.” A pause, and then, “How, how was yours?”

Viktor’s eyebrow quirks at the question, but he answers anyway, keeping it short and to the point; there’s no need for Yuuri to learn about the more potentially stomach turning aspects of his life just yet. “Just meetings, for the most part. Are you hungry? Someone should have brought you food.”

“They- yes, someone did.”

“And?”

“And… it was good?” Yuuri’s tone brings the ending up, like he isn’t sure what the answer is supposed to be, and Viktor’s chuckles.

“And are you ready for dinner, darling? You should get up, stretch your legs. Come.” He stands and holds out his hand to Yuuri, who hesitates for a moment before he slides his into Viktor’s, accepting the help up. He once again doesn’t flinch when Viktor brings their bodies close together and even accepts the kiss Viktor presses to his cheek. Viktor’s chest grows tight with happiness as he leads him to the dining room, where Yura and Mila are already seated, the table laden with dinner.

“Papa, who is that?” Yura asks, tilting his head curiously at Yuuri.

“He’s a friend of mine, he’s going to be staying with us for a while,” Viktor lies smoothly. “He doesn’t speak Russian, but you can practice your English with him if you’d like.”

Yura’s eyes light up and he speaks, voice slow and accent heavy, in English. “Hello, I Yuri, what you named?”

Yuuri’s eyes dart between Viktor and little Yuri, unsure. “This is my son, Yuri. He’s still learning English, but he’s curious about you.”

“Oh.” It’s barely a word, more of an expulsion of breath, but Viktor hears it all the same. He turns to Yura. “Hello, my name is Yuuri.” His voice is hesitant before he says his own name, like he’s not sure he wants Viktor to know it.

To Viktor’s surprise, Yura’s mouth twists into a frown. “I Yuri first! You no Yuri!”

Viktor goes to admonish his child, but Yuuri beats him to it. “It’s different though, see? I’m Yuuri,” he exaggerates the “u” sound, “so you’re still the only Yuri.” And just like that, the situation is defused, much to Viktor’s surprise. He ushers Yuuri to his seat instead of saying anything and begins filling Yura’s plate and his own. When Yuuri doesn’t move, he places some food on his plate as well and gives him a look, enjoying the flash of fear in Yuuri’s eyes before Yuuri obediently starts eating as well. Yura almost immediately begins peppering Yuuri with questions in his broken English, but Yuuri isn’t able to answer some of them, like the reason why he was here in the first place; Viktor doesn’t help him.

They’re almost done when Mila’s phone beeps and she reads the message quickly before excusing herself. Viktor’s curiosity is piqued, but he doesn’t say anything as she leaves. Yuuri looks like he wants to ask something, holding back until Viktor sends Yura to the bathroom to wash his hands after eating.

“Uhm, V-Viktor?”

“Yes, Eros?” Yuuri squirms in his seat at the name.

“Can- Will I be able to see Phich- uhm, my friend soon?” He looks up at Viktor with his big brown eyes.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you can finish what we started this morning.” Viktor raises an eyebrow, smirking. Part of him wants Yuuri to continue this weird hold out, thinking of how sweet it will be when Viktor finally takes him, but a much bigger parts wants his dick sucked sooner rather than later.

Yuuri’s face turns bright red, flushing sweetly down below the collar of the shirt he’s wearing, some old ratty thing that hangs slightly off his shoulder and leaves his collarbones peeking out. “Oh, uhm, I-”

“Papa, come on, it’s time to read,” Yura says from the doorway of the dining room, his little face bright with excitement. It’s annoying right now, though, because Viktor wants to know what Yuuri was going to say, and to see how long Viktor could keep that adorable blush on his cheeks. Normally reading time with his son is a bright point on the dark days he frequently has to deal with, and they’re at an exciting part of the book, so Yura’s insistence is understandable. Viktor stands, pulling Yuuri from his own chair, and the three of them go to the living area. The book is Russian, so Yuuri won’t be able to understand anything, but he sits quietly with them and listens for the duration of the hour that Viktor reads. Afterwards, Yura is sent off to bathe before bed and Viktor gestures for Yuuri to come closer.

“Well, my sweet Eros?” He spreads his legs lazily, expectantly, and watches Yuuri bite his lip as he steels himself.

Much to Viktor’s surprise, Yuuri slides onto the floor, kneeling between Viktor’s feet, his hands immediately moving towards the zipper of his trousers. He seems intent on rushing things, only slight hesitancy in his movements, and while Viktor would like for things to go slower, he knows they’re on a time limit for Yura being gone. He watches as Yuuri licks his lips, eyes cast down as his hands stroke Viktor to hardness before he leans in and takes Viktor’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Viktor groans, hands tangling in those silky black locks, because Yuuri looks just as good as Viktor imagined, pink lips stretched around his girth. His movements are still unsure and hesitant, playing an inexperienced paramour well, but he does well with keeping his teeth in check and the soft suckling feels amazing on Viktor’s hard cock. He’s moving too slow, though, and so Viktor knots his fingers tighter in his hair and begins pushing him down harder, faster, relishing in the choked surprised coming from Yuuri, the way his hands scramble for purchase on Viktor’s thighs, his eyes watering when he looks up at Viktor.

“Such a good little whore for me, take my fat cock-” Yuuri makes a noise that send vibrations through his groin, “take it just like dirty whores do, that’s right, you were made for sucking dick, I bet you’ll look even better when I’m fucking your tight little ass, huh? Whores love getting fucked, don’t you?” Viktor pants; he can feel his orgasm, delayed since this morning, building. He tightens his grip on Yuuri’s head and starts to fuck his face, watching as Yuuri chokes and cries, but doesn’t fight, lets Viktor do what he pleases, and that just pushes him closer until he finally manages to say, “Swallow every drop and you’ll get to see your friend.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, other than a pitiful moan, but when Viktor comes, he does as he’s told, choking at the initial spurt of come but dutifully swallowing until Viktor softens in his mouth. The gentle sucking causes Viktor to shudder through the aftershocks before he pushes Yuuri away. His thumb brushes through some of the tears streaking down Yuuri’s cheek as he tells him, “Good little whore.”

There’s nothing more to be said just yet, as Viktor can hear Yura little feet racing to the living room, so he tucks himself back into his trousers and stands, leaving Yuuri still on the floor. Yura demands Viktor carry him to his bed and Viktor is surprised to see Yuuri following silently afterwards. They go through their nighttime routine and Viktor kisses Yura’s forehead before taking Yuuri by the arm and leaving, flipping the light off behind him before he shuts the door. There are two guards posted at the doorway, meant to keep the heir to the Nikiforov family safe, and Yuuri gives them a terrified look before he follows.

“Good whores get treats, so come on, you can see your little friend tonight,” Viktor says, feeling generous as he leads Yuuri through the maze of hallways to where Phichit is being kept. He motions for the door to be opened and steps through, immediately spotting Mr. Chulanont on the bed, looking both terrified and furious when he spots Viktor. “You have fifteen minutes, enjoy your visit,” Viktor says, smirking at Phichit as he shoves Yuuri inside and steps back out, closing the door.

“In fifteen minutes, bring my Yuuri back to my rooms,” he tells the guards stationed outside the room as he walks away. It seems that keeping Mr. Chulanont alive did have a positive outcome after all.

***

As soon as the door closes behind him, Yuuri starts crying and makes a beeline for Phichit, collapsing his best friends arms. “Phichit, I’m so sorry, I- they- what is happening, why- I-” He can’t even get a full sentence out, choking on the words around the bitter taste of semen in his mouth, but Phichit understands anyway, because Phichit always does.

“I don’t know much, but I recognize that man,” Phichit hisses. “That’s the man Christophe warned us about, the one I went to talk to last week? He was interested in you and he gave off creepy vibes, but I didn’t think… I mean, who just _ kidnaps _ people!” His grip on Yuuri tightens as they hold each other for several long minutes. “Did he hurt you?” Phichit finally asks.

Yuuri feels his face heat up as he remembers what he had to do just to see his friend for a measly fifteen minutes, but his silence apparently speaks volumes to Phichit, who lets out an angry hiss. “I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands!”

“You can’t, Phichit, he’s dangerous! He- he left me alone this morning and when he came back, he had _ blood _ on his face. I think… what if he’s some kind of, like, mob boss or something?” Yuuri shudders at the memory. “It was- it was just a blowjob, it’s not a big deal,” Yuuri mumbles, hiding his face in Phichit’s neck so his friend can’t see how upset he actually is. It was his first time doing anything remotely sexual with another person and now he’s tainted forever. The memory of the bitter tang, the heavy feel of a cock in his mouth…

“I don’t care, I’ll kill him or die trying, no one should have put their hands on you like that!”

Suddenly, it occurs to Yuuri that the room might be bugged. “No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” He drops his voice to just the barest whisper, putting his lips right next to Phichit’s ear. “Just- hold on, I’m working on a plan. He doesn’t seem to get angry as long as I do what he says, and he’ll let me come see you if I do… _ things _ with him, so just wait for me okay?”

Because of the way their bodies are pressed together, he can feel the tense way Phichit is holding himself, but his friends voice is perfectly even as he says, louder, “Fine, if you’re okay with it.” _ I’ll follow your lead but be safe! _ is what he’s really saying, Yuuri knows.

“Our time is almost up, I think, are you okay?” Yuuri suddenly thinks to ask, pulling away and taking in all of Phichit’s features.

“I’ll be fine, they mostly leave me alone,” he replies, brushing away Yuuri’s concerns. He doesn’t look injured, other than a bruise on his cheek from where he’d put up a fight when they injected Yuuri with whatever it was that knocked him out during the kidnapping, according to Phichit. They still feed him, and he has a bathroom with no door on it connected to the room, so Yuuri’s pretty sure it’s the best they can hope for in their situation.

The door opening makes them both jump, but it’s just one of the guards, gesturing for Yuuri, who desperately doesn’t want to leave, but knows he must if he wants to keep Viktor happy. The pair embrace one last time before Yuuri is ushered out and led, feet heavy, to what feels like his doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone asking, there is our darling Phichit! Don't worry, I won't kill my little ray of sunshine, I can promise that.
> 
> I'm making this my NaNo, so I'm hoping to get more chapters written and posted soon, but as always, I suck and I don't make any promises (though I do have a team of people who will nag me if I don't hit the daily word count, so there's that...)


	4. Monstrous Dealings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, hi, this is a very dark chapter, lots of non-con elements and full on rape. 
> 
> **Consider this your warning.**
> 
> There's nothing super important to the story here, mostly just Viktor mind fucking with Yuuri and asserting his control over him. There's also a bit of relationship development with Yuuri and Yuri, but again, not super important to the story, just an extension of the other power-play parts of the previous chapters.

Viktor is waiting when Yuuri gets back to the room, propped up on some pillows and wearing only a pair of loose shorts as he scrolls through his phone, though he turns his attention to Yuuri the moment the door opens. His eyes are cold as ice and just ask blue as they rake over Yuuri’s body, and Yuuri wishes he could cover himself, even though he’s fully dressed. “Hello, _ myshka _, did you have a good visit?”

His voice is level, but to Yuuri, it feels taunting, a reminder of the power Viktor holds over him and Phichit. “Thank you for letting me see Phichit,” Yuuri replies, feeling awkward and unsure of what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Of course, I did tell you I would, and you were more than adequate at sucking cock,” Viktor says, smirking. “Though, I don’t know how much longer I’ll enjoy this faux shy routine that you have going on.”

Faux shy? What does Viktor mean by that? Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask questions, so he just stands there, waiting until Viktor gestures him closer. Yuuri moves closer to the bed and doesn’t fight Viktor’s grasp as he wraps his fingers around Yuuri’s wrist and tugs him onto the bed, just goes with the momentum and lands on Viktor’s hard body with a soft “_ oof _” that’s cut off when Viktor lifts his chin and kisses him. Unsure what to do, and feeling awkward with how he’s laying on the other man, Yuuri tentatively kisses back, moving his hands so he can brace himself better on the mattress. Viktor’s hands almost immediately begin to roam, fingers sliding down the back of Yuuri’s jeans as best they can and squeezing hard enough that Yuuri lets out a small yelp. 

He can feel Viktor’s smirk against his lips and tries to relax, to picture someone else kissing him, but his mind betrays him this time and no one comes to mind. He forces his mind to drift, to disassociate from what’s happening to him, but that becomes more difficult when Viktor begins unbuttoning his jeans and one hand slips further down, rubbing against his asshole. It would probably feel good under different circumstances, but it just makes Yuuri’s stomach roll with disgust now. He can’t help it; he pulls back when a finger begins to press harder, as though trying to breach him. “Wait, no, I can’t-” he pants, but stops speaking almost immediately when he sees a murderous look on Viktor’s face.

He expects yelling, even flinches in anticipation of a blow, but Viktor surprises him, grabbing his bicep roughly and throwing Yuuri off of his lap and onto the bed. He takes Yuuri’s jeans and underwear off, nails biting tracks in the skin of Yuuri’s hips, before he flips him over and presses Yuuri roughly into the bed. Yuuri’s glasses hurt where they’re shoved against his face, but one of Viktor’s hands is pressing his head down into the plush comforter and he can’t move to knock him off. All thoughts of being complicit and doing whatever Viktor wants fly out of Yuuri’s head; a scream tears from his throat, but Viktor doesn’t seem to care or notice.

A slick, firm _ something _ presses into his hole and Yuuri tries to thrash, tries to find some way to escape, but Viktor is far stronger, transferring the hand on his head to grab Yuuri’s hands instead. He wrenches them up, holding them high on Yuuri’s back and the pain causes Yuuri to cry out again. A fresh wave of terror floods his body as something much larger than before begins pushing into him and even as inexperienced as he is, Yuuri knows more prep than a single finger is needed for this. 

Another scream as the head of Viktor’s cock goes through the tight ring of muscles and part of Yuuri’s mind is screaming at him to just relax, knowledge that it will hurt more if he clenches tightly trying to break through the screams. Viktor doesn’t give him time to adjust, just keeps shallowly thrusting into him. His grip on Yuuri’s wrists doesn’t weaken, and his cock feels impossibly thick and long, seeming to take forever until Viktor’s hips are pressed flush to Yuuri’s asscheeks.

“You feel so good, Eros, so tight for such a whore.” Yuuri whimpers at the words, tears falling from his eyes for the first time that night. It likely won’t be the last time Viktor makes him cry. “If you want to keep struggling, by all means, it just makes that pretty little ass of yours tighten around me, but if I were you, I would stop with this fucking shit. I’ve already told you I’m not going to tolerate if for much longer.” He loosens his grips slightly as he starts to thrust, his movements shoving Yuuri’s body further up the bed.

Yuuri’s mind races as he tries to figure out what would be the best option. Obviously not pissing Viktor off is his main objective, but his mind feels separate from his body, detaching as tears fall, as his ass is roughly fucked by this man, he can’t think with the overwhelming fear and pain, but he doesn’t move as Viktor lets go of him. His arms fall due to the movement of their bodies, he stops fighting, he just… takes it.

Viktor murmurs praises that fall on deaf ears, grunting his pleasure behind Yuuri as he chips away at Yuuri’s being. A few rough slaps on his ass cause Yuuri to cry out, each time making his hole clench tighter around Viktor’s cock, the pain a bright stinging that jolts him back to reality. He allows Viktor to use his body and doesn’t even realize that Viktor has made him come until he’s brought back to himself fully when teeth sink roughly into his shoulder. This pain is different, deep and bruising, as Viktor stills above him, coming; there’s a puddle of come under Yuuri and his body is tense with overstimulation.

“You were adequate, _ myshka _,” he says as he pulls out and allows Yuuri to collapse on the bed. To Yuuri’s growing horror, he can feel wetness trickling out of his abused hole and sees that Viktor, standing next to the bed by Yuuri’s head isn’t wearing a condom. His cock is big, even softening, and a coldness fills Yuuri’s stomach when he realizes that it’s also streaked with red.

_ Blood _, his mind supplies. Yuuri closes his eyes in an attempt to block the sight out, but it’s there, in his mind, and the soreness of his body doesn’t nothing but remind him of the rape that just occured.

“Come, my Eros, let’s go take a shower and get you cleaned up.” When Yuuri doesn’t move, Viktor sighs heavily and he tenses for a hit, but Viktor only picks him up and carries him to the adjoining room. “I’m sorry I was so rough, _ myshka _, but I can’t have you not following orders. I don’t ask for much, do I?” He lowers Yuuri onto the toilet seat and starts the shower, before stepping out of the room. Yuuri hears him speak to someone, but it’s in Russian, and too muffled to make out much of anything anyway, before he returns to the bathroom. 

After the initial shock of his tender ass touching something, Yuuri actually appreciates the cold of the seat, the way it cools the sting of the spanking, though the hardness of the seat doesn’t help. Once the water is warm enough for Viktor, he helps Yuuri stand and step into the shower stall, closing the door behind them. He talks, but Yuuri doesn’t listen, letting Viktor guide him as he washes Yuuri’s hair and rinses before repeating the process on his own head. After, he soaps up a rag and begins carefully washing his body; when he turns Yuuri around, he also positions his hands on the wall and nudges his feet apart. Yuuri trembles, wondering if he’s going to be raped again in the shower, but Viktor just washes between his cheeks, movements soft and gentle, completely opposite of how he’d been in the bedroom.

Yuuri feels Viktor kneel behind him and his long fingers spread his asscheeks; he hears Viktor tut over the sound of the running water. “Oh, _ myshka _ , you made me be too rough, but don’t worry, I don’t think the tearing is very serious. We’ll have to stick with your lovely lips on my cock for a while, it looks like.” The worst part is that Viktor _ does _ sound sincere and a little contrite, and the juxtaposition between that and the bedroom cause fresh tears to well in Yuuri’s eyes.

He lets them mix with the water of the shower instead of brushing them away.

***

Viktor hums a lullaby idly as he dries Yuuri off, bundling him up warmly before he leads him back to the room. His bed has been stripped as he had ordered, and a clean bedspread awaits him and his darling. He helps Yuuri walk to the edge, ignoring the way Yuuri’s body tenses, and pulls back the covers. Yuuri slowly lowers himself down, wincing when his probably-definitely sore body touches the cool bed, before he allows Viktor to cover him up. The red marks on his wrists and arms will be bruises tomorrow and Viktor almost feels bad about marking up his pretty skin, but he wouldn’t have had to if Yuuri had just done as he was supposed to. He’ll learn his place, though, Viktor is sure of it. He turns off the lights and slides into the bed on his side, scooting towards the middle and pulling Yuuri towards him. His darling Eros whimpers when his ass presses roughly against Viktor’s body, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing Viktor to pepper kisses across his shoulder blades and whisper endearments into the bruised skin.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he feels himself awaken with a start when the door to his bedroom opens and he’s reaching for his gun before he sees Yura standing there, crying. “What’s wrong, little tiger?” he asks.

“Pappa, I had a bad dream,” Yura sniffles, shuffling closer.

Viktor is suddenly aware that neither he nor Yuuri are wearing clothes under the covers. “Hold on a second, kitten, Papa needs to put on some shorts.” Yura nods and steps back, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“What’s going on?” Yuuri mumbles, face tight with pain even in the dark of the room as he sits up.

“Yura had a nightmare, that’s it,” Viktor whispers, sliding on a pair of boxers and then getting back in bed and holding the covers up so that his son can lay down next to him. Yura curls into his chest and he hears Yuuri lay back down. For Viktor, things seem almost perfect at that moment. On one side, his son, the heir to the family business. On the other, his darling Eros, who is slowly becoming perfectly moulded to Viktor’s ideal partner. 

***

Viktor takes the next day to pamper Yuuri, doting on him and checking to make sure he really hadn’t torn him too badly the night before. Yuuri would learn to do better, Viktor was sure of it, he was smart enough and hopefully this lesson wouldn’t require repeating again. He got a certain joy out of watching Yura interact with Yuuri, too, and knew that the two would be fast friends.

“You know how dance?” Yura asks as they’re eating lunch, eyes wide on his little face.

“I was trained- er, I learned ballet when I was your age,” Yuuri confirms.

“I dance same! We dance, _ da _? Dance now?” Yuri’s practically glowing with excitement at this point, but it falls slightly when Yuuri shakes his head.

“I, ah, hurt myself, last night, I mean. We’ll dance sometime else, I promise.”

“What mean ‘promise’?”

Viktor watches Yuuri chew on his lip as he thinks of how to explain with Yura’s limited English. “Would you like me to translate?” he offers. Yuuri jumps slightly, as though he’d forgotten Viktor was in the room, but nods anyway.

The day keeps the warm fire in Viktor’s chest burning, but he knows he has to go back to work soon. His various empires won’t run themselves and it’s not like he can spend a lot of time with his Yuuri, since he doesn’t want the tearing to get worse. It’s this thought that Viktor keeps in mind when, after Yura goes outside to play when they’re done with lunch, Yuuri asks about Phichit once again.

Viktor just looks at him, considering. Jealous churns his stomach as he says, “You know by now that only good whores get rewards.”

A look of terror fills Yuuri’s face. “I- I can’t-”

“How hard are you willing to work to prove to me that you’re a good whore, Eros?” When Yuuri starts to tear up, Viktor huffs out a breath. “After all, you’re only sore because you wouldn’t be good last night.”

“I’m sorry, I can do better, but-”

“I’ll be willing to let you visit your little friend this time if you can show me how good you can be.”

“I don’t understand.”

Viktor just looks at Yuuri for a long moment. “Perhaps a more enthusiastic performance from my sweet little professional whore, yes?” He slides his ass closer to the edge of his desk chair and pointedly spreads his legs. Yuuri hesitates before his face hardens with determination and, yes, there’s the Eros that Viktor saw strutting on stage that first night. He slinks towards Viktor, eyes hooded and hips swaying, sinking down between Viktor’s legs. His tongue peeks out from between his lips, wetting them as he unzips Viktor’s trousers. 

His performance is, indeed, much more enthusiastic than the previous night, only gagging slightly in the beginning when Viktor pulls his head down too quickly, though he recovers easily. What he can’t take into his mouth, he uses his hands, stroking in time. It’s still messier than Viktor prefers, but the sight of Yuuri’s lips growing redder squashes the annoyance, and he doesn’t fight when Viktor forces his head down. Viktor groans as he feels the head of his cock dip down Yuuri’s throat and he’s pleased when Yuuri allows him to take full control. It’s too difficult to get a good rhythm going in the rolling chair, so Viktor stands, keeping Yuuri on his cock, and kicks his chair back, away from them.

Yuuri’s hands come up, holding onto Viktor’s thighs as he starts going faster, his cock going deeper and deeper. Words tumble from his lips, praise for how well his whore sucks dick, swears at how amazing it feels, and he doesn’t even think to warn Yuuri before he’s bringing him all the way down onto his cock. Yuuri’s eyes bulge and water as his nose is buried into Viktor’s pubic hair, his hands scrambling for purchase while also trying to push Viktor away. His face is red from the lack of oxygen, but his throat is so tight, feels so amazing on Viktor’s cock, constricting as Viktor comes down his throat.

He coughs and gags when Viktor pulls out, panting as he tries to catch his breath while Viktor sits back in his chair. “Now _ that’s _ the Eros I knew was in there,” he tells Yuuri, petting his hair as he remains kneeling on the floor. When Yuuri looks at him again, Viktor’s cock twitches at the sight of his mussed hair, red and tear streaked face, but alas, he’s not as young as he once was. When Yuuri only sits there, Viktor looks meaningfully down at where his dick is still hanging out of his trousers and Yuuri immediately reaches out to tuck him back in and zip up the zipper. Viktor turns back to his desk to resume checking over a few urgent things and calls out to one of his guards. He informs them that Yuuri is to be taken to his friend and should be returned to Viktor’s side in exactly thirty minutes. He repeats this to Yuuri in English and watches as his Eros walks away, limping slightly and looking fucked out in every way possible.

If Yuuri wants to see his friend, he’ll be going with every mark of ownership that Viktor can leave on him. Viktor refocuses on his paperwork, humming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooooooooo shoutout to idc_chan for being a #BossBitch and helping me when I started floundering with, well, most of this chapter.


	5. Mindset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much, just the passage of time, though there are a few instances of rape/discussion of rape.

Phichit is horrified when he sees Yuuri limping into his prison-like room and immediately rushes to his side. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he hisses as he leads him to the bed. Yuuri shakes his head, but when he winces as he sits down, Phichit continues, “I’ll cut off his dick and feed it to him and kill him with my bare hands, what the fuck-”

“Peach, no, we- we have to think rationally about this.” Yuuri glances around, worrying his bottom lip, then lowers his voice, whispering directly in Phichit’s ear. “We can’t do anything rash, this compound is huge, and we’re in a whole other country where we don’t even speak the language! What would we do if we escaped? We don’t have passports or proof of anything, so even if, by some miracle, we  _ were _ able to get out of here, where would we go? We don’t know if he has the police paid off or anything, he could have the whole fucking government in his pocket! Please, you have to calm down.”

He’s nearly in tears at this point and Phichit finally huffs out a breath, holding his best friend even tighter. “You’re right, I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt worse. Next time, he could… What happens when he gets tired of you? Or decides to punish you for something you didn’t do? Yuuri, I’m so scared for you.” The thoughts of what could be happening to Yuuri while Phichit is stuck here, locked away in this room until Viktor decides to kill him, run through his mind like a hopeless carousel. This must be what Yuuri feels like constantly. They sit together in silence for several long minutes, just holding each other. Phichit tries to impart as much strength in his embrace as he possibly can, but there’s nothing he can do, not for himself and certainly not for his best friend, who is being forced to do who-knows-what at all hours.

“It’s,” Yuuri finally starts, before he pauses. “Well, it’s not  _ fine _ , but it’s what we have right now. I’m working on a plan, but Viktor keeps me by his side a lot and-”

A knock on the door startles them both and it opens wide, revealing the guards who stand outside Phichit’s room and the one who brought Yuuri, who grunts out that their time is up. Phichit clings tighter to his friend, but it’s Yuuri who pulls away, body hunching in on itself and feet moving as though walking to an electric chair waiting for him. And, in some ways, watching the door close behind Yuuri, it feels the same way to him.

***

Days blend together, passing too quickly for Yuuri to count. Viktor doesn’t always allow him to see Phichit, even if he still demands sexual favors, but his visits with his friend still happen at least twice a week, more if Viktor feels like being generous or if he does as Viktor demands. Viktor begins having them both sleep naked, as well, a sickening change that leaves Yuuri feeling disgusting every day that he wakes up to Viktor’s hard cock rubbing against his ass. At the very least, though, Viktor is as good as his word and doesn’t force himself on Yuuri for a few weeks, allowing for his ass to heal from the rape, but the month of reprive is over seemingly between one blink and the next.

There are little things that throw Yuuri for a loop through that month, however. Because he had been stolen from his home, he only has a few pieces of clothes, and while Viktor has him wear his own clothes for the most part, he ends up bringing a tailor to the house one day. An actual tailor, who takes all of Yuuri’s measurements and a week later delivers a full wardrobe of fine shirts that flow silkily over his hands, and well cut trousers to the house. Yuuri is forced to “thank” Viktor with another blowjob, after which he cries in the shower while Viktor gets down on his knees and sucks his cock for the first time ever. He comes, because his body enjoys it even while his mind is tormented, and Viktor murmurs praises in his ear as he soaps up his body. The gift  _ is _ nice, but is it worth losing everything?

Another surprise is two weeks after that, when Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand and leads him down a different hallway after breakfast. Yura has gone to school and the house is mostly quiet, the sunlight shining brightly through the windows as their feet make hard noises on the wooden floor. He never dares to ask where they’re going, but he’s sorely tempted to this time. Viktor doesn’t look angry or upset, so maybe he’s not going to kill Yuuri yet? But maybe he looks happy when he’s about to kill people? Yuuri doesn’t want to find out either way.

Finally, after what seems like a long time, Viktor stops outside a closed door and turns to look at Yuuri. “Are you ready for your surprise, Eros?”

Sincerely hoping it’s not a torture chamber on the other side, he nods and Viktor opens the door to reveal-

“It’s a dance studio I had built for Yura last year when he first got interested in dancing. It’s good for flexibility and core strength, so I figured it would be good for him to have something at home to practice in. I thought you might miss dancing, so I want you to know that you’re also welcome to come in here and dance whenever I don’t need you.”

Tears well in his eyes without permission as the realization of what Viktor is telling him sinks in. It’s not a place of his own, not by a long shot, but it’s a place where Yuuri can go without Viktor hovering over him every moment. A place where he can do what he’s always done when his anxiety gets too bad and dance until he’s too exhausted to move. A place to escape the terrible nightmare his life has become.

“Viktor, I-” Yuuri starts to choke out, but the words die in his throat. Can he really thank this man? After all, if it weren’t for him, Yuuri wouldn’t be here and could still be dancing in the familiar old studio a few streets from their apartment, wouldn’t need to get permission from his captor to come and dance in the first place. But a part of him also realizes that Viktor doesn’t have to do this for him either. He could continue having Yuuri follow him around like a dog, keeping his leash tight, nothing to do but be arm candy. This… this is a freedom, even if it is in the smallest way. 

“Thank you, Viktor,” he finally manages to say, looking the man in the eyes willingly for the first time ever. He knows he’ll have to pay for this with his body, but it’s the first time that it’s felt worth it in the slightest bit.

He’s presented with some workout clothes the next day after Viktor tells him to write up a list of things he’ll need and he goes through some stretches, some basic moves, getting his body warmed up and used to the movements after the break of the past few weeks. He’s running through the choreography from one of the performances he was in as a child, Minako-sensei’s voice in his head, when suddenly he opens his eyes and sees Yuri standing at the door, eyes wide with wonder. Next to him is an older woman, her slim face serious and her lips pursed. Yuuri immediately stops what he’s doing and feels himself shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know Yuri was home already,” he starts to explain.

Yuri chatters something in Russian, still staring at Yuuri like he’s an angel or something. “He says that he wants you to teach him how to dance like you do,” the woman helpfully translates. She’s giving Yuuri a long, hard look. “You have had training.”

“Yes, I’ve been taking ballet since I was three.”

“It shows. Come.” She claps her hands and both he and Yuri automatically straighten their spines. “I am Lilia Baranovskaya, Yuri’s dance instructor. You will help me with his lessons.”

“I- I’ll have to talk to Viktor-”

Lilia waves that sentance away before Yuuri can ever fully form it. “I will deal with him. If you are in this studio with me, you are mine for that time,  _ da _ ?”

“Uhm,  _ da _ , Madame Lilia.”

Viktor is apparently ecstatic that his son has grown attached to Yuuri in such a short time, because he never seems to mind when Yuri drags him off to the dance studio. Yuuri doesn’t mind either, because Yuri is a quick learner and honestly such a sweet boy that it’s hard to try to stay distant from him after only a few lessons together.

“It’s a trap,” Phichit insists during one of their visits.

“I doubt he’s using his son like that,” Yuuri retorts.

“Maybe, maybe not, but things like time in a dance studio don’t come for free.”

“I know.” Yuuri thinks about how his time is almost up; it’s been almost a month since Viktor raped him and he’s been hinting at how the tears in Yuuri’s anus should be healed soon. They’re no closer to figuring out an escape plan now than they were before, and it doesn’t seem like that will change before Viktor rapes him again. But things between he and Viktor are different now, aren’t they? The man has a softer side that Yuuri didn’t expect to be turned towards him, and he could easily get Yuuri to bend to his whims just by turning on Phichit, but he hasn’t. Has instead shown more of a firm hand than anything outrageously cruel, has allowed Yuuri’s body to heal instead of making things worse.

It terrifies Yuuri to admit it, even just to himself, but if Yuuri hadn’t been kidnapped and if Phichit’s life wasn’t at stake, he could even see himself being happy here.

The night that things really start to change, Yuuri’s dressed for dinner in nice trousers and a pressed blue shirt that Yuuri is pretty sure is actual silk. Viktor leads him to the dining room, where the lights are dimmed and there are candles lit on the table, like every cliche date from every movie ever. He pulls Yuuri’s chair out for him and sits in his usual spot, and it’s only then that Yuuri realizes that Yura isn’t there as well.

“I thought we could just have a nice romance night to ourselves,” Viktor says when he asks. He smiles gently at Yuuri, reaching over to hold his hand. His thumb rubs lightly across his knuckles and the lighting makes his eyes look warm for the first time ever. “A date, as it were.”

A date? He thinks they’re dating? Yuuri forces himself to smile at Viktor and is shocked to find it’s not near as hard to drum up as it was before. “That sounds good, thank you.”

The ‘date’ goes better than Yuuri expected, as Viktor asks him questions about his old life and actually seems to care about his answers. In return, Viktor offers up small bits of information about himself, though nothing that could be possibly used against him. After they’re finished, Yuuri’s in for another surprise when Viktor leads him outside and he’s able to breathe fresh air for the first time in over a month. There’s a garden, everything dried and brittle in the crisp autumn air, but just walking around the area, Yuuri can tell that it’s overflowing in the spring and summer. If he closes his eyes, he imagines he can smell the fresh floral scent mixed with the breeze.

“Do you like it?” Viktor asks, breaking the spell. “It looks better in the spring, but I always find gardens to be relaxing any time of the year.”

“I’ll bet the flowers are amazing,” Yuuri agrees. He shivers when Viktor makes his way through the sleeping garden and sits them both down on a stone bench somewhere in the middle. 

“You’ll see in a few months. Once they’re in full bloom, I never want to leave.” Viktor seems to notice Yuuri’s shivering because he wraps his arm around Yuuri’s waist and pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Everything okay,  _ myshka _ ?”

“Fine, I’m okay.” Yuuri doesn’t want to leave, despite the chill. He can’t remember the last time he saw the night sky, the last time he sat and just enjoyed the quiet of nature around him. It’s been too long, and his mind abruptly goes to Phichit, who still hasn’t been allowed outside of his prison-room; it’s slowly driving him mad. Phichit has always been a sociable person, running round to see various friends, chatting with anyone who would stand next to him too long, never able to sit still for longer than ten minutes.

A conversation they had two days prior comes back to Yuuri.

_ “You know, in a way, you have power in that farce of a relationship,” Phichit tells him as they’re curled on the bed together. _

_ Yuuri is naturally dubious, because, hello, the man kidnapped him, he holds all the power, hasn’t he? “What makes you say that?” _

_ “Well, doesn’t he let you come see me any time you ask?” _

_ “Yeah, but I have to give him some sort of sexual favor in exchange for it.” It makes Yuuri feel like a whore, dirtier than stripping ever did. _

_ “Which is horrible of him, but it got me thinking, there  _ is _ a bit of balance of power in that. If you keep him happy, who knows what he’ll give you?” _

_ “He won’t let us go free, Peach.” _

_ “No, but little freedoms are better than nothing. He’s letting you go dance now, even.” Phichit squeezes Yuuri into a tighter hug. “I know you hate this, but since you won’t let me kill him, keeping him happy seems like the best way to keep us alive.” _

But Phichit’s not really living like this, is he? And as disgusting as it makes Yuuri feel, maybe his friend is right and he can use his body to both of their advantages. He pulls slightly away from Viktor as a plan begins forming. His mind dissociates as his body leans in, pressing his cold lips to Viktor’s.

“Warm me up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahaha I fail at everything please lie and tell me this chapter sounded good?
> 
> Shout out to idc_chan, who is my perfect sounding board and pre-read this chapter for me. OH can we blame her if it sucks then?!


	6. Maelstrom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeeey long time no see? I've been stuck with this chapter and I suck, but I'm trying to at least get a little written every day. It'd be great to hit 30k before the end of the month, but I don't know, we host thanksgiving at my house every year and I have so much to do, so who knows how this week is going to be between cleaning and cooking and working and crying. (a lot of crying.)
> 
> OKAY FOR REAL NOTE ON WARNINGS so nothing really happens here that needs warning? A little bit of threatening of lives, that's about it, but if you have any concerns, for serious, drop me a comment and I will let you know.

Viktor savors the feel of Yuuri’s slightly chapped lips against his, the soft words ringing in his ears. Finally, Yuuri seems like he’s accepted that he belongs to Viktor and has actually initiated something for the first time. He hopes this is the end of Yuuri’s feigned shyness, because it was honestly getting old. Whores know their jobs and pretending otherwise is just a waste of time. Yuuri shivers when Viktor’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, but Viktor’s pretty sure it’s more from his cold hands than the weather or being turned on. He pulls away from Yuuri this time and stands; it’s only a short trip back to the house and they hang their coats up before he takes Yuuri’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together as he leads them to his bedroom. 

Yuuri says nothing as Viktor undresses him, pressing kisses as bits of skin are exposed to his wandering lips, but he can feel the tremble in Yuuri’s body, his semi hard cock bumping Viktor’s chin as he moves further down. It’s like unwrapping a gift, one more freely given than any other time Viktor has put his hands on Yuuri. He lays him out on the bed once they’re both disrobed and a shiver runs down his spine when Yuuri’s hand comes up to thread through his hair as he kisses him. A feeling of bliss clouds his mind, fingers exploring the body beneath him, reveling in each hitch in Yuuri’s breathing, the way his body responds to Viktor’s touch.

He finds the lube on his nightstand and prepares Yuuri slowly, teasing an orgasm from him before he finally removes his fingers. Hitching Yuuri’s legs up onto his hips, Viktor lines himself up and pushes his cock into the tight warmth of Yuuri’s ass. Yuuri moans, body shuddering with oversensitivity, but he doesn’t protest, lets Viktor take what’s his, head thrown back as Viktor fucks into him. The sounds of skin slapping and breaths heaving fill the room, intermingled with Viktor’s praise. He brings Yuuri to another orgasm before finishing, hips pumping wildly before he spills; he only just manages to fall to the side instead of on top of Yuuri. They lay there, panting, for several minutes until Viktor’s heart rate slows.

“Come on,  _ myshka _ , we need to shower,” Viktor says with a groan as he sits up. But when he looks down at his Yuuri, he sees the other man is fast asleep. Instead of waking him, Viktor just smiles and goes to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. Yuuri hardly moves while Viktor cleans him, but as he’s being tucked under the covers, Viktor hears him mumble “Love you” and his heart sings with happiness. He curls up to Yuuri’s back, wrapping him in his arms and falling into his own deep sleep. Soon, Yuuri will be able to say it to him, and Viktor cannot wait for that day.

***

Yuuri awakens overheated and in a panic, sitting straight up in bed and flapping around until he remembers where he is. A quick look around shows that Viktor isn’t with him and the sun is bright. He fumbles around for his glasses, sliding them onto his face as he stands. He’s still naked, but his body isn’t crusty and he vaguely remembers Viktor cleaning him off after… that. He still feels disgusting, his body sore and muscles tight, and so gathers clothes to shower. Mila is waiting for him when he gets out, idly typing on her phone and not bothering to look up when he leaves the bathroom. In fact, she barely glances at him, just stands and heads towards the door, leaving Yuuri to assume that he’s supposed to follow her.

She says nothing as she leads him to Viktor’s office, just knocks on the door and opens it when Viktor calls out to enter. She doesn’t go in, however, still texting, but Yuuri does, startling as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Eros,  _ myshka _ , did you have a good night's sleep?” Viktor asks, looking up from whatever he’s doing and smiling widely. Yuuri doesn’t know if he likes that smile, but he answers anyway.

“Yes, thank you. Er, did you?”

“I did, indeed, my love! Come.”

Yuuri’s body follows the command automatically, walking around to the edge of Viktor’s desk. Viktor turns in his chair and pulls him closer, hands coming up to rest on his hips. Yuuri remembers how much Viktor seemed to like his hands in his hair last night and tentatively brings one up to slide his fingers through the silky locks. Viktor’s hum of approval emboldens him and he begins to gently massage his scalp. This time, Viktor sighs and leans forward to press his face into Yuuri’s stomach.

They stay like that for a while, until Yuuri finally decides to just go for it, since Viktor seems to be in a decent mood. “Uhm, Viktor?”

“Yes, my love?”

The name makes Yuuri feel slightly sick. “Would it be okay if I went for a walk in the garden?”

Viktor is frowning when he leans back and Yuuri feels his heart sink. “I’m busy right now,  _ myshka _ , but if you want to, take Georgi with you.”

His heart jumps at that; Georgi is one of the guards that takes Yuuri to visit Phichit. This might work in their favor. “Ah, thank you. Could- Could I take Phichit out too?” When Viktor’s frown deepens, he quickly tries to explain, “It’s just that he’s been in that room all alone for so long and I think the fresh air would be good for both of us and I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked-”

Viktor chuckles. “You can ask, darling, I’m not upset.” He stands, kissing Yuuri lightly, and when he next speaks, his voice is lower, and one hand grips Yuuri’s chin hard, forcing him to stare into those beautiful blue eyes. “But if this is some ploy to try to escape, know that I will be  _ very _ upset and you will be punished even worse than before, do you understand me? Mr. Chulanont’s punishment will be far worse than yours, as well, and you will watch every second of that.”

Yuuri whimpers, but nods, doing his best to maintain eye contact through his fear. “Yes.”

“Good boy.” He kisses him roughly, releasing Yuuri’s face and sitting down again before he calls out to Mila. Yuuri assumes that he’s telling her of Yuuri’s request because he’s being led out of the office and to the entrance of the garden, where Georgi and Phichit are waiting for him. Phichit runs to him and they hug tightly. He doesn’t ask how he’s outside and Yuuri is forever grateful for that.

“Come on, let’s walk around,” Yuuri murmurs. “You need to stretch your legs.” They step out from the hug, but Yuuri still hooks their arms together as they walk. They don’t talk much, not with a guard following on their heels, but Yuuri can see Phichit breathing deeply in the fresh air. It’s still chilly out, but it’s so much better than being inside after being caged for so long. The garden is pretty in the daylight, and Yuuri can tell that it’d be a true sight to be seen when in full bloom. He wishes he wasn’t going to be here for that, but with each passing day, the hope of the two of them running away, maybe even kidnapping little Yuri and taking him away from such a place, seems further and further from their reach. Yuuri’s not ruling an escape out, but he’s also not holding his breath for it to happen, either. 

They walk for several minutes until they reach another familiar area and Yuuri shivers slightly when he thinks about what he did last night, what this spot led to. A little freedom, yes, for both of them, but not much else. They settle on a different bench when Phichit asks, bundled together while Georgi stays a few feet away. 

“Do you think we could make a run for it?” Phichit mutters, leaning into Yuuri.

_ Mr. Chulanont’s punishment will be far worse than yours, as well, and you will watch every second of that. _ Yuuri shudders at the reminder. “No, we really shouldn’t.”

Phichit shoots him a look, but, again, doesn’t ask any questions. They sit and enjoy what little freedom they’ve been afforded until Yura comes running up to them. 

“Yuuri, dance!” he demands before he seems to notice that Yuuri’s not alone. “Who you?”

“Yura, this is Phichit. He is my friend,” Yuuri says slowly, making sure to enunciate each word for the child's benefit. Yura gives Phichit a considering look before sticking out his little hand.

“Yuuri friend is my friend.”

Phichit smiles as he accepts the hand, shaking it firmly. “Yuuri didn’t tell me he had a new friend, I’m happy to meet you.”

“His English isn’t very good yet,” Yuuri tells him when Yura looks confused.

“Who is this adorable little guy anyway? I didn’t know there were kids here.”

Yuuri swallows, looking at the sweet little boy. “He’s Viktor’s son. We dance together sometimes.” Yura understands that well enough, puffing his little chest up with pride.

“I dance good, Yuuri say so!”

“You dance very good,” Yuuri praises. “Why outside now?”

“Find Yuuri! We dance now!”

Yuuri looks at Georgi, who waves his phone at them with a nod, signalling their time is up for now. He and Phichit stand and Yura immediately grabs his free hand, chattering on about his day in broken English interspersed with Russian that Yuuri doesn’t quite understand. They’re forced to part ways at the door, hugging tightly before Georgi leads Phichit away and Yura drags him to the studio after a short stop by Viktor’s room so that he can change into dance clothes. Lilla is waiting for them at the door of the studio and the three of them begin to warm up. 

His mind racing with what may come, Yuuri does his best to lose himself in the repetitive movements his body has known for so long.

***

Viktor is already in the dining room when his Yuri’s come in, both of their hair damp from post-practice showers, and he can’t help but coo at the sight of Yura clutching Yuuri’s hand as he talks. They’re so precious together! Once they’re seated, Yura is happy to take over the conversation, talking about school and dance practice and then he asks something that Viktor’s not prepared for.

“Papa, I met Yuuri’s friend Phichit too! Who is he? I’ve never seen him before.”

Viktor has never made it a point to hide things from his son, so long as they’re age appropriate, but he’s not really sure how to tell Yura that Phichit is only around to ensure Yuuri’s cooperation, or until he’s outlived his usefulness. “Ah, well, it’s like you said, he’s Yuuri’s friend.”

Yuuri is looking nervously between the two of them, obviously having caught the names if nothing else, so Viktor just smiles sweetly at him. “Uhm-”

“Yura was just telling me how he met your little friend today. How did that happen?”

“He was looking for me, in the garden? He wanted to dance after school and it was before Phichit went back to his room, I didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to see him, I’m sorry, Viktor.”

Viktor waves this away and turns back to his son. “Did you like him?”

Yura shrugs. “I didn’t really talk to him. But, Papa! Yuuri told him that I’m a good dancer!”

“You are, kitten, the best dancer.”

“No!” Yura says fiercely, taking Viktor back for a moment. “No, Yuuri is the best dancer! The best and most prettiest dancer ever!”

“He is, isn’t he?” After all, it was Yuuri’s dancing that had made Viktor fall in love with him in the first place, so he understands where his son is coming from. “Do you like when he teaches you?”

“Yeah, Yuuri is the best!”

Viktor smiles, and ruffles his son’s hair. “Yeah, I think he is too.” He turns to Yuuri and smiles softly at him, happy to see Yuuri relax instead of staying tense. “Would you like Yuuri to stay?” he asks, in English this time.

“Yuuri stay!” Yura cheers, grinning toothily. “Yuuri stay forever?”

Yuuri shoots him a nervous look before turning back to Yura. “Uhm, yeah, Yura, I’ll stay.” He leans over, kissing Yura on the head and even giving Viktor a small smile. Viktor preens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Yura are my favorites together. I always love reading their friendship and this kid one is just too much sometimes T-T I need to write a fic where they're just having adventures together.
> 
> What did you guys think? I was considering doing mpreg but I was reminded that not everyone likes that and I am totally fine either way, I was just doing it for The Drama. If people like that idea, I will consider writing an au of this au with it? (consider, because y'all, I am not good with getting shit done, honestly) (I might do it anyway, I fucking love me some mpreg and THE DRAMA Y'ALL)


End file.
